


Magic of May

by kakkoweeb



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Future Fic, M/M, i am thirsty for oikage sweetness, what else can i say
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-06
Updated: 2016-08-06
Packaged: 2018-07-29 15:37:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7690177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kakkoweeb/pseuds/kakkoweeb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Their relationship is truly a lot of things—it’s new, it’s awkward, it’s different, it’s strange—but the one truth about it that never leaves Tooru’s thoughts is that it’s magic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Magic of May

**Author's Note:**

> "I sing of a place where the light resides for the sake of believing in a word called love."
> 
> in other words, just me rambling about oikage fluffstuffs while listening to a song by Kalafina. it's called gogatsu no mahou, if anyone wants to give it a listen;;;
> 
> PLEASE READ THE NOTES AT THE END THANK YOU

It’s cheesy, when he first realizes he’s in love with Tobio ( _Tobio,_ of all people, who was once just an annoying kid who couldn’t learn a jump serve on his own). They’re in the middle of a park, staring up at flowers on trees and down in bushes, and a light breeze blows in their faces, pushing Tobio’s fringe away enough for Tooru to see his face, and it hits him just how _beautiful_ the boy is. His stare is blank, bordering on soulless, but as he points at the sagging purple flowers hanging high above them, Tooru has to resist the urge to hold him, to wrap his arms around those stiff and broad shoulders and press his face against the back of the shorter’s neck.

And it’s equally cheesy when he finally tells him, weeks and weeks later. It’s awkward, painfully so, but he doesn’t expect anything else; after all, he knows himself and knows just who he’s confessing his love for, and one might argue that this awkwardness is high on the list of reasons he’s confessing in the first place. Tobio doesn’t say anything, not for a while, but then his face is turning a dark shade of pink and Tooru smiles, knows for sure he won’t be rejected, and so he decides to make it easier.

He takes Tobio’s hand, pulls him just a little closer, says, “You don’t have to say anything. If you don’t feel the same way, let go of my hand on a count of three,” and then he counts slowly: “One…two…”

The grip he has on Tobio is loose, but Tobio stays rooted in his spot, fingers intertwined with Tooru’s, and he looks, almost nervously, up and into chocolate brown eyes and says, “Three.”

Tooru’s smile grows wide, is genuine.

But the rest of it isn’t as easy. Tobio is about as graceful as a duck and it hasn’t been that long since the two of them had recovered from the intensity that was each other on the volleyball court and stopped glaring at each other like they were still in the semi-finals of the Spring High, but Tooru knows to be patient, knows that they’ll ease into it all in good time, and he isn’t at all afraid to spend as many of their days as they can, shifting and adjusting as they see fit until there’s nothing left to adjust.

Because whenever he looks at Tobio’s face—that ridiculous and stunning face, the face of a genius, the face of an omnivorous animal who won’t stop until he has what he wants—and takes his hand, he knows that they can scale mountains and cross oceans and touch the clouds, so long as they never let go.

And Tooru has no plans of letting go.

\---

It’s funny, sometimes, how the two of them can easily take something that would normally be fun and romantic and effortlessly transform it into something pathetic as if their days of being children in high school is years away from leaving them. It’s as frustrating as it is endearing and Tooru finds himself laughing in good fun more often than he ever has before.

He takes them both canoeing once—nothing fancy and certainly not competitive; just a small little boat they row by themselves in a lake in the middle of a park amidst dozens of other couples, young and old. Tooru smiles at the way Tobio dumbly examines his oars, staring at them as if wondering why they’re not round and bouncy like a volleyball and then he pushes off, away from the entry point, shows Tobio how to row, ignores the aggressive yet unconvincing declaration of, “I know how to do it!”

They row, the sound of the wood wading through water nothing but soothing to Tooru’s ears, calming the _thud—thud—thud_ coming faster than usual from inside his chest. He can hear the other people and their merry voices, laughing all the way from their own boats, taking in the scenery, snapping photos, smiling at each other like the love-struck puppies they are.

And then there’s Tobio, another kind of puppy, perhaps, staring intensely at the water even as he recklessly rows, as if he’s expecting a sea creature of some kind to poke its head out of the lake, and it’s only when Tooru lets out a snorting laugh that his attention is finally diverted.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Tooru sings, stretching his shoulders as high as they would go, keeping the feigned innocence on his face even as he stares up at the trees and signs and the distant buildings that surround the lake. He rows and rows, aware of how Tobio questioningly stares at him until he directs that stare to the floor of the canoe instead.

When his vision starts spinning, Tooru immediately squeezes his eyes shut to try and drive the sensation away. He reopens them seconds later and is met by the sight of a couple a good league away, staring at them, whispering. Briefly, he wonders why, but he still feels light-headed and he looks into the horizon to try and pull himself together—getting dizzy during a date in the middle of water isn’t a very good experience to be had.

But when he looks around, he sees that it isn’t only one or two couples staring in their direction, and he starts to become wary, stares down at himself and then at Tobio and all around them to see what might be so eye-catching in their area—and that’s when he sees that their little boat is still only a few feet away from where they first started, only now, rotated a complete one hundred and eighty degrees.

And then he’s laughing so loud that nearly all the boat-riders find it necessary to look at him.

Naturally, Tobio panics. “What are you laughing at all of a sudden?”

“We’ve been going around in circles this entire time,” says Tooru, taking a momentary pause in between chuckles to breathe and examine the boy across him.

Tobio’s eyebrows rise and he looks frantically about him, a smile growing slowly on his face when he sees the unused boats lined up almost directly behind where they are situated, purses his lips together when Tooru laughs all over again.

“Why would you take me here when you don’t know how to paddle?” he asks, the corners of his lips upturned, brief flashes of his teeth showing through his mouth as he speaks.

“Excuse you, it’s _rowing,_ not paddling, and I’m doing it perfectly well, thank you. You’re the one who doesn’t know how to use the oars—see? _See?”_

Neither of them have stopped rowing and now that they’re aware, it’s almost painfully obvious that they aren’t moving forward at all and are, instead, somehow maneuvering the water well enough to spin their canoe around an unchanging pivot, and this time, Tobio can’t help but laugh out loud.

“Stop rowing; there’s got to be a strategy to this, right? We need to do it in sync!”

“Why don’t _you_ stop rowing and try to match the pace of the guy who actually knows how?”

They yell at each other for what seems like hours, hysterical grins on their faces. The sound of it is almost as pleasant as the singing of the birds at a reasonable time of morning, and Tooru discovers that he’d let himself get dizzy any day, moving in circles in the middle of a park with hundreds of other people around staring curiously at them, if it means he gets to hear the sound of Tobio’s laughter mixed with his own.

\---

It’s kind of frustrating, their luck, even on regular days. Tooru doesn’t ask for much—just some time alone together, maybe a few cuddles and kisses here and there, and nice little meet-ups whenever they’re free, maybe at a café or a movie theatre, free of unpleasant circumstances or major inconveniences that would inevitably ruin the day.

But for a wish that specific, life always seems to have the perfect response just to take him down a few notches, show him where his place is, and so very easily Tooru finds himself stranded under the feeble shelter that is a worn old shed as rain pours hard all around them, banging against the metal over their heads, probably with the intention to break the thing altogether.

He has Tobio beside him and he doesn’t know if that’s better or worse, because for some reason both of them completely neglected to bring an umbrella along for emergencies and now Tobio is so impatient his teeth are clawing at his bottom lip, eyes glaring at the sky as if he can intimidate it to stop releasing rain onto the streets.

“We can run,” he quickly suggests.

“No.” Tooru just as quickly shakes his head. “It’s pouring down too hard and the ground is slippery, and either way, we’re going to end up really wet. And then we’re going to get sick and you don’t want that.” The frown on Tobio’s face affirms this. “Let’s just wait it out. It’s bound to stop sometime.”

Sometime, however, doesn’t seem to be any time soon and Tooru himself becomes restless the more he is forced to watch Tobio fidgeting where he stands, both from the cold and from the wait, and he doesn’t know what he can do to make it better or if it’s even possible to.

But it’s later when Tobio lets out a gruff sigh and runs both his hands through his hair that he knows they’re going to be in for a rough night. “I’m tired of waiting,” he says, “I’m cold and it doesn’t look like it’s going to stop. I’m running home.”

“It’ll only get colder if you run home— _hey!”_

Tobio pulls the back of his jacket over his head, shoves his hands in his pockets, and then he’s dashing into the rainy streets and it looks so ridiculous that Tooru has half the mind to just leave him scurrying away, looking like a half-man, half-pear—but then he groans inwardly and, like an idiot, he’s chasing after him, yelling out, “Tobio, get back here! You’re going to get sick!” and several other variations thereof, because like hell he’s going to let Tobio get pelted by raindrops all alone.

When he sees Tooru running after him, Tobio slows down to a brisk walk, but it takes a few moments more of jogging under terrible visibility for the former to catch up. He isn’t tired but he’s freezing and rainwater is dripping everywhere down his face, over his eyes, his lips, and to say that he is downright irritated by the time he manages to make a grab for Tobio’s arm is an understatement.

“Tobio, I told you not to run! Can you even see where you’re going right now? One wrong step and both of us could be slip _ping—“_

He slips on his last syllable, conveniently, dragging Tobio with him by the sleeve as he stumbles to regain his footing, and the only fortunate thing about it is that their urgent screams are drowned out by the howling wind and raging water.

The beating of his heart is wild but he manages to steady himself, thankfully, and it’s only then that he feels Tobio’s hands clutching tightly at his arms, only then that he sees the surprised look on Tobio’s face, and his body turns on his own, brown eyes drawn to the hair pressed against the skin in between Tobio’s dark blue ones.

His jacket has long since slipped off of his head and for that Tooru is glad, because now he can see clearly—under the dim light of a nearby lamp post—Tobio’s face under the pouring rain, eyes reflecting light, drops of rainwater falling from the tips of his hair down the bridge of his nose, over his cheek and then sliding down his jaw until it catches at his chin. Gingerly Tooru thumbs at a single droplet lingering at the corner of his mouth, breathes in, leans to press a kiss against Tobio’s lips.

They’re moist but warm, a brilliant change amidst the cold air and rain, and suddenly Tooru is numb to the dampness clinging to his skin through his clothes; all he feels now is how Tobio’s lips move against his, the smoothness of the skin of his jaw and neck against Tooru’s fingertips, the feel of his fingers carding through Tooru’s messy hair as Tooru’s tongue swipes briefly over his lips, licking at the wetness gathered from the rain. Their exhales are hot against each other’s.

When they pull away, their surroundings are still, and it’s as if it never rained.

“Well,” Tobio says, and there’s a slight tremble in his voice that tells Tooru they need to find shelter and warmth right now, “we’re definitely wet now. And _of course_ the rain stops after we’ve already gotten caught up in it.”

Tooru’s grin is victorious, regardless, and he glances up at the still-dark sky as he leads Tobio by the arm, somewhere where they can dry off and warm up. “If you’d listened to me, we’d be dry and heading straight home right now.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

But if Tobio had listened to him, they probably wouldn’t have been able to share a momentous, dramatic kiss under the rain either, and Tooru optimistically supposes that their luck is theirs for a reason.

\---

It’s nerve-wracking, at best, when they’re already a good few months into it and he still feels as though he’s groping in the dark, trying to steer the both of them in the right direction while Tobio’s simply letting himself get dragged everywhere without complaint. Tooru knows what he wants, where he wants to be, and from the start he’s been willing to try anything and everything to get the two of them there, but it’s scary to think, at times, that what he wants and what Tobio wants are actually different things.

He’s always been watching Tobio; always, even way back when his reasons for watching were nothing more than to monitor his fast-moving volleyball prowess, and he’s also always considered it a bit of a hobby because Tobio is entertaining. He’s direct, he’s no-nonsense, he has no idea what it means to hide behind a mask or put up any kind of façade and that makes him an open book, a sit-com that caters to the comedic desires of many.

He never would have guessed that the closer he tries to get, the harder Tobio becomes to understand, and it has Tooru more nervous than he’s ever been before.

Don’t get him wrong; he enjoys it when he sees Tobio flustered and stuttering, trying to hide his cheeks tinged with pink, and when he sees Tobio sporting stupidly adorable smiles or outright laughing when Tooru somehow embarrasses himself, and the happiness he feels when Tobio responds to his advances—may it be an embrace or a kiss or an invitation to lean against each other on the couch as they watch a terrible film—is unlike any other.

Tooru is happy, definitely. But then he realizes that he can’t tell whether Tobio is, and his happiness drastically melts into dread.

One unreasonably stormy evening in mid-December, he finds himself trudging through thick heaps of snow, ignoring the flakes falling from the sky and onto every inch of his body, desperately hauling himself to Tobio’s house. The trek itself is difficult and minutes into it, he wants nothing more than to set himself on fire for warmth, but when Tobio opens the door for him when he arrives, wearing a thick, oversized sweater and patterned socks with a blanket draped over his shoulders like some sort of superhero, it all becomes worth it.

Tobio is shocked, needless to say, more so than he ever has been, and after he ushers Tooru into the living room, offering him the top spot next to the fireplace, he’s rushing to the kitchen and hurriedly making him a cup of hot _anything_ in the hope that he doesn’t turn into a corpse that Tobio will be left to bury when the snow finally melts. Tooru takes the cup, gratefully, and he’s glad when he sniffs at the rising steam and smells chocolate.

“Why would you go all the way over here at night?” Tobio demands as he sips his drink. “It’s freezing out! What if you died and got buried in snow on your way?”

“Oh, you know,” Tooru says light-heartedly, holding the heat of the cup close to his face, “I thought you might be getting lonely.”

“You walked all the way here on the off chance that I might be lonely?”

“Well, you never tell me, so I might as well guess.”

It comes out before he can think about it and he holds on to the cup a little tighter than he has already been, bathing his face in the hot air it radiates, pretending not to be but all too aware of Tobio’s shifting behind him, his clutching at the back of the dining chair stolen from its original place to cater to Tooru’s needs.

“I’m not lonely,” he says after a moment’s silence.

“But are you happy?”

The question is vague, and three years ago, maybe, Tooru would have regretted asking it, quickly assuming that Tobio would be too dense, too stupid, too innocent to understand what it means. But he knows better now, knows Tobio better now, and Tobio knows better too. He lets out a heavy breath and Tooru holds onto his, forgets to do anything else other than wait for a response, wonder whether he’s going to be happily sipping hot chocolate or regretting having come in about two minutes.

But then he feels a warmth on his back, two arms slipping next to his cheeks and wrapping themselves around his shoulders, and then a light weight at the top of his head accompanied by slow, steady breaths on his hair, and suddenly he doesn’t need the chocolate or the fireplace anymore. He finally exhales, breathing out the dread, and inhales, taking in the scent of Tobio’s soap and his sweater.

“When have I ever kept quiet about being unhappy, really?” Tobio grumbles against the top of his head, still skirting around the direct version of the sentence even if the two of them are all alone and practically clinging to each other’s warmth, but Tooru forgives him for it for now. “You literally marched through a blizzard just to get to me. How could being around a person like that make anyone unhappy?”

Tooru clings tightly onto Tobio’s arms, presses his head further against Tobio’s chest, closing his eyes and allowing his mind and heart to soak in Tobio’s words, to drink them in like a warm beverage to melt the chill in his bones. Somehow, the quiet of the room and the silence in the depths of his mind drown out the din of the rushing snow outside, and it’s a kind of tranquil Tooru knows he can never achieve with anyone else.

Nursing the hot chocolate in one hand and reaching up to touch Tobio’s face with the other, Tooru then allows himself a smile as their eyes meet. “Can’t you say it with a little more conviction, Tobio-chan?” he says, a tease, in a whisper.

Tobio can’t, that’s obvious, but again, it’s something Tooru can forgive for now, especially after the former plants a quick kiss on his forehead and shrugs the blanket off his shoulders to spread it on top of Tooru’s form, curled into a ball on a cramped chair.

“Warm up,” is all he can say, but it’s enough.

\---

It’s magical, when they stroll hand-in-hand through the park that means so much to Tooru in the middle of Spring, once again staring up at flowers of which they already know all the names, they’ve already talked about it many times together—but still, Tobio is leading him by the hand, bidding him a wordless _keep up_ as he lightly jogs through what seems to be a tunnel of bright flowers as if he’s never seen all of it before. Tooru has, and so he only lays his eyes on the flowers when Tobio tells him to; otherwise, he spends his time looking at the most beautiful one of them all, the awed face before him covered by the shadows of trees.

He and Tobio have always been ambitious, and that’s obvious in the way they clutched their volleyballs close to their hearts and refused to let go. They’re a little grown now, a bit (just a little bit) more mature, and Tooru almost laughs when it really, truly sinks in that what he refuses to let go of now is something entirely different—not a ball, but still a dream, one that is dragging him by the hand as they walk in a park they’ve been to a thousand times over.

But Tobio isn’t letting go either, is just hauling him forward like an excited little boy, and Tooru is glad.

Tooru knows what he wants, what he dreams of: taking life one step at a time, Tobio by his side, hand warm against his—walking side-by-side, running head-first into experiences like going in circles on a boat in the water and falling to the ground under the pour of the heavy rain and climbing uphill slopes pushing against the blowing of the wind and bearing the weight of the snow. And he knows, now, that this is a dream of Tobio’s as well and they can only keep moving forward from here, together, whether they have to stare at nature’s wonders or look natural disaster dead in the eye.

It’s really cute how Tobio crouches down, examining flowers fallen to the grass, glancing at them and then up at what used to be their homes in quick little motions, and so Tooru ruffles up his hair, scoops a few up and considers making a crown but he knows Tobio won’t appreciate that so he takes one and locks it behind Tobio’s ear, making him look like a princess rather than the remains of a solitary king (he isn’t solitary anymore, and never will be, not if Tooru has anything to say about it). Tobio touches it, curiously, and raises a questioning eyebrow at Tooru.

Suddenly Tooru grins and the rest of the flowers in his hands are being thrown onto Tobio’s face.

It’s a little bit frightening the way he growls out Tooru’s name, rises to his feet, and spits out a few unfortunate flowers that have somehow worked their way in between his lips, so Tooru makes a break for it, running as fast as his legs can carry him, knowing well that Tobio will have no problem catching up; he never has, and that might have angered Tooru to no end before, but that’s in the past and rather stupid, he admits to himself as he slows (slightly), thinking maybe he wants to get caught this time.

So little time has passed and Tobio is already nearly slamming into him from behind, grabbing him and sending the both of them sprawling onto the ground, and Tooru screams in surprise when Tobio does. They roll around in the grass, never minding that the things relentlessly cling to their clothes and hair, only stopping when Tooru is on his back and Tobio hovers over him, dangerously close.

It’s enchanting, the way Tobio looks at him then, the clarity and depth of his eyes just mere inches away from Tooru’s, staring like he’s boring into them—and it’s an excellent distraction because Tooru doesn’t notice at all that he’s already fisting a handful of grass, ripping it all out, and it’s only when they’re falling on Tooru’s face that he smiles to himself in realization. He deserves it, probably, and so he laughs with sealed lips, eyes shut tight, bidding his time until it’s alright for him to shake the little things off of his cheeks.

When Tobio does it for him and gives him a soft kiss, he knows that the itch that might come later on will be worth it.

They spend their time like this, lying on their backs in the grass, Tooru asking Tobio about the color of the sky (and Tobio frowning at him), and it’s amazing how he feels as though time isn’t running when he knows well it doesn’t stop for anyone. Maybe he’s just stopped caring, maybe he thinks this is alright because he knows his seconds aren’t wasted as long as it’s Tobio by his side.

He and Tobio have always been ambitious, but probably less so now, because everyone learns to be content at some point in time, learns that what they want has been within their reach all along and then their ambitions of reaching and attaining become ambitions of keeping, maintaining. It’s sweet but really sappy, and Tooru supposes that all’s as it should be. He’s always been sort of a sap, anyway, and it’s so interesting that it’s Tobio ( _Tobio)_ that is making him feel like this.

It’s unexpected, it’s _crazy,_ even, something Tooru never would have guessed in the days of his youth, that one day he might look at Kageyama Tobio and see the world, and that Tobio might look back at him and see the universe.

It’s cheesy, it’s funny, it’s kind of frustrating, it’s nerve-wracking, it’s magical (really cute, a little bit frightening, enchanting, sweet but really sappy, unexpected, crazy).

It’s love.

**Author's Note:**

> [SHAMELESS PLUG FOR OIKAGE LOVERS]
> 
> you might already be aware, but if you aren't, there's currently an interest survey going around for a sfw oikage charity zine! if you're interested in buying or participating in it (or both, like me lol) follows the links below!
> 
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